


The Bullywog's Special

by bobadeluxe



Series: Parents and Pararel Universe [2]
Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Bad Parenting, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Gen, Major Character Injury, Mild Blood, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26105380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobadeluxe/pseuds/bobadeluxe
Summary: Frank enters a whole new world, gets caught in a sticky situation, meets a new friend, and ruins his life-long win streak.It's the Bullywog's Special![Absolutely will not make any sense if you didn't read the first fic in the series first]
Series: Parents and Pararel Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895395
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bad parenting' is foster parents signing up their kids for blood sport, and 'Violence' is the UFC. (Hence the 'Additional tags to be added' tag, but don't worry it won't get gory.)
> 
> The T rating is for blood sport and swearing.

Frank lies down on the floor of his cell, eyes closed, breathing steady, pretending to be deep in slumber. In reality, his new uniform is really uncomfortable. It sticks to his back when he sweats, and then he just has these red rashes everywhere. What does this mean? The rashes render him unable to sleep on his back,  _ that's _ the trick up his jersey. Frank can only sleep on his back. Booya. Mind blown.

Next to him, Amanda is deep in the grift as well. She can only sleep.. with her blankie. Genius! They've both been conditioned to sleep in a specific way that annoyed their parents, but it's actually serving a purpose this time. They can stay awake the whole night – and they do! Frank hears the gas lamp being put out, followed by heavy footfalls of the last guard leaving. Apparently they aren't important enough to keep watch for an entire day, which is a little bit insulting to be honest. Frank can do long division. It's fine though, now they can talk.

"So we know where the other two are being shipped off to," Amanda whispers, still keeping her voice low despite the privacy they now have. "Barry will be in Foreverwinter, and Willy will be in Meowmeowshade."

Frank nods. "That's what I heard too, but we have no idea where these places are."

"Duh, but it's still a lead right? Here's what I'm thinking. Once we are seperated, we each find the other two, and then regroup back here at.. Fan.. Flandalin?"

"Sounds about right, yeah."

"Yeah! Oh I'm so good at this." Amanda rubs her hands together in glee. "So I'm gonna go find Barry – "

"Aw man, why?" Frank groans.

"Um, 'cause he is definitely getting bullied so hard right now? Like just a bunch of Legolases and Gimlies giving him a swirly, but magical, like in a glowing vortex.. toilet. He has  _ braces _ , Frank."

"I know that, but why you? I don't wanna be stuck with Willy. That guy sucks," he tries to protest, but Amanda is unfazed.

"Frank." Amanda puts both hands on his shoulders and looks at him deep in his eyes. "I genuinely can't stop myself from killing him."

"..Yeah, that's fair." Frank has to agree.

"I'm going to Rococoport tomorrow, so you will be alone for a while. Stay strong bro" Amanda squeezes his shoulders before pulling away. "Where are you going again?"

"Waterdeep." This one Frankly remembers clearly.

Amanda frowns. "Huh. I don't know why I expected it to sound more.. fantasy."

"Yeah, I had that thought too, but it's just Waterdeep."

"I'm not worried about you. We are like the strongest of the team." Amanda's smile widens when she sees Frank nod in agreement. "When we regroup, we'll be even stronger in number. Then we can find our parents. My dad is totally dead though."

Frank closes his eyes, remembering his kind father for the last time. "Yeah, mine too. It's really sad. I'm super bummed about it."

"He only drinks bottled water, and he can't be in the country because 'the fresh air dries his skin's natural oil.' He's dead as hell." There's a certain fondness in the tone Amanda uses to recall her father's shortcomings, but one can not overlook the tragedy of a grown man being utterly helpless once released from civilization into the wild.

Frank runs his hand across his face, rubbing at his temples. "My dad uses a soft toilet seat."

"Oh my god."

"Yeah, it's bad. It's like sitting on an inflatable donut."

They mourn together for a while. It's good to have someone who understands your loss.

"Amanda? Can I confess something?" Frank speaks up after he is done pretending to pray.

"Sure dude," says Amanda, who has just been reciting the alphabet this past few minutes.

Frank sighs. "I kinda wish I can fall asleep right now."

".. Yeah, me too. I'm really tired."

In unison they say, _ "Aw man." _

  
  


* * *

  
  


The cell feels empty now that he is alone. Frank plans to spend his last remaining days in a productive way, doing push ups and sit ups to keep himself in shape ready for war. Though what happens instead is him falling asleep. Yeah. Just sleeping. On the floor. Frank knows in his heart of heart that one day he would learn how to sleep in other positions. On his side, left, right, and even the deranged sleeping on his front position. He never knew that he would be learning in a jail cell. Life comes at you fast indeed, as well as rashes.

He didn't realize he was being transported from the cell. They dragged him away while still asleep, with a bag put over his head. He didn't hear anything at all, not even a peep. Who knew he was that tired? When he comes to again, someone pulls the bag from his head and he sees –

A pub?

Apart from the fantasy patron of all races, the place looks surprisingly mundane. Like a place that does serve alcohol, but dad would bring him there to have lunch while he watches TV. It's spacious, well-lit, but a bit dirty, especially the floor. Though that's to be expected from the commotion in the pub. Customers fill the room from wall to wall, knocking into each other from drunken stupor. A gigantic, draconic waitress holds a tray as large as his body, filled to the brim with foamy, weird-colored drinks. At the center of it all is a twenty-sided wrestling ring. A centerpiece of this (apparently) sports bar, and he would guess – their main source of income.

Clawed hands grab his shoulders from behind, and push him down into a chair. In front of him, Frank is presented with a paper, a quill, and a bottle of ink. 

"Wow, it's in English." Frank whistles. "That's convenient."

The owner of the hands steps into view. A large, dragon person. Man, that's cool as hell. Frank can't tell if this dragon is a boy, but that seems to be par for the course now. A lot of people here don't look like humans so it's hard to make assumptions, but his mother always said that it's not polite to assume anyway. Frank shrugs and goes back to his paper.

"English?" They repeat his word in confusion. They have a neat voice, like they are chewing on rocks at all times.

Frank points at the letters on the page. "What is this language called?"

They don't have eyebrows; there's not a single hair on their head. Just sharp ridges protruding from the back of their head, trailing down their neck until they disappear into their waistcoat. Though the leathery skin above their eyes wrinkle just so like a frown.

".. Common?" They give him a weird look. Okay, that must be a stupid question to ask then.

"I understand Common," Frank reassures them. Now he knows the formal language of this.. kingdom? country? town?  _ world? _ Next goal, find a map.

"Good, otherwise I'd start doubting the quality of the merchandise." Dragon snorts – or sighs? It sounds more like a snort, but he can see a puff of smoke from their nostrils. "Sign the damn paper, kid. I'm adopting you."

"You're what now?"

Isn't that a little too quick? Having a dragon parent would be.. insanely cool, actually, but it's been like what – a week? Can't a guy grief? Sure, this dragon is like seven feet tall and is red, but his dad was credited as Ugly Man in a movie once. What does this dragon bring to the table?

"Adopting you. Did you hit your head too hard when they dragged you in here?" The dragon shakes their head. "Once I'm your father, I can sign you up for UFC."

"WHAT??"

"Why do you ask so many questions?! You are getting on my nerves, kid. This is a respectable establishment, dammit. We do things by the book here. It's not called Unidentifiable Random Children, it's Unfortunate Foster Children!"

Frank's attention turns to the twenty-sided ring in the middle of the room. He didn't notice it earlier, but there are  _ children  _ fighting there. Some are his age, some are younger, older, or otherwise impossible to tell because they are not humanoid. They are really going at it, duking it out for the patrons' amusement.  _ Real  _ fighting, no thighs slapping involved. It's not all fantasy, elves slinging magic, birds flapping their wings, and cats sharpening their claws though. There are kids who fight with brute strength, using moves that don't look much different from earth fighting. One kid uppercuts her opponent out cold!

Frank immediately grabs the quill and gives it a generous dip into the ink. "Oh hell yeah. Adopt me, wrestling dragon dad."

"Ha! GREAT Enthusiasm, kid! I like that in my foster children!" The dragon walks to the side to give Frank a hearty pat on the back. "It'll take you far in this career. Now, what do you think in terms of stage names?"

Frank doesn't even have to think hard for it, it just pops up in his mind like there's a lightbulb blinking above his head. "I'm Striker."

"Striker! I like that! I like that a lot, kid. Powerful stuff." Dragon dad laughs; a deep, rumbling sound that makes rings of smoke puffs out of their nostrils.

Frank always liked roughhousing with his friends. As he grows up though, he learns that not all kids can keep up with him, and that's fine. Dad can't even pick him up anymore. He's growing faster than other kids it seems, taller, bigger – he's the tallest of the group now. You'd think Willy would be taller since his uncle is so jacked, but he is only taller than Barry (for now). It's still a shame though, because he wants to fight but he's not going to just pick on kids like fucking Willy. He's been convincing his parents to let him learn martial arts or take him on a hunting trip, but they seem reluctant.  _ Now is his chance. _

Once he finishes signing the paper, Dragon dad yanks it away so fast that Frank worries they're going to tear it. "Now that's done, get ready. You're up next."

"Wait, right now?"

"Why not? You look ready." Oh for sure, Frank is always ready for anything. "I need a replacement for today's match; my other foster kid just died."

Frank's eyes almost pop out of his skull. "YOU CAN DIE?"

Dragon dad rolls their eyes at him. Their.. nauseating yellow, narrow-pupil eyes. "Where has that enthusiasm gone? Don't tell me you are getting cold talons now."

"I don't even have talons," Frank says.

Dragon dad hauls him off the chair. "then you have no reason to fear! Come on!"

Y.. yeah! Frank doesn't have to kill anyone.. right? Yeah. Yeah, he's not going to. He can just pin them down until they tap out! He's not going to die either, because he can't lose. Frank Wilson doesn't lose.

"Bring me some gold, alright? Daddy needs a new tobacco pipe. Off you go!" Dragon dad steps up to the one of the many sides of the ring, and just launches him inside.

"Here's our newcomer! Mr. Puff has acquired a new addition to his magical foster home – Striker!"

Striker rises up onto his feet in a shower of applause, the light above shining down on him. Let's do thi–

Striker promptly eats shit.

* * *

Frank wakes up on the floor, shirtless, every drink that is served here has been  _ plastered _ onto his back because of how sticky the floor is. Yikes, that can't be good for the rash. Is this just life now? Is life just randomly passing out on the spot, like when Barry says his blood sugar is too low or that the room needs to be saged? Wait, why did he pass out? Did he..

"I lost," Frank gasps out loud.

"Yeah no shit, Merlock." Dragon dad looms over him, his large body obscuring every lightsource in the room, trapping Frank in his shadow. "I thought you had  _ it _ , kid! You cost me a lot of money today, you know. Firstly, I bought you at a ridiculous price. They didn't tell me you have a rash! Secondly, you lost me the match."

"You don't understand!" Frank sits up. It takes multiple tries since the mysterious fluids have already dried on his back. Ugh. "I never lost ever. I just don't. That's my thing – I'm a winner."

Dad offhandedly mentioned to him once that they had a friendly competition with family friends to see whose kid would say  _ Daddy _ first, and it was Frank. It's been going uphill from then on. He's good at school, sports, and he's fairly popular. They have a room in the house just to keep the trophies of his accomplishment, and not a single of them is for his participation. He is a – what's the word – gifted. Yeah, he's a gifted kid.  _ The best son a father could ask for _ , according to dad.

"Yeah, clearly you aren't."

Frank startles. "H-huh? What?"

"A winner." Dragon dad– no screw that, Just Puff! – says. "Ugh. Go talk to my errand boy Paeden, he's backstage. He'll tell you where you sleep tonight.  _ Astilabor above _ , I can't believe I still have to clothe and feed you."

"Why are you complaining? Don't you run a foster home?" Puff shrugs at his question. "You know what, don't bother. You are not my dad anyway."

Puff snorts. "I am,  _ on paper.  _ Deal with it, kid!"

He turns back, and leaves.

Frank sits there on the floor, contemplating his next step. He can just… leave. No one is watching; he can easily slip away amongst the chaos in the pub. Right now he can only see people's knees from where he is sitting, it's that crowded. Sure, he knows nothing of this world, and he would probably piss off Puff – but it's better than being signed up to a blood sport. Which he just now realizes that's what it is. He can get a map, and then travels to Meowmeowshade to get Willy. Just like how he planned it with Amanda.

On the other hand, he can go meet this Paeden boy. Maybe this is just an off day. Dad probably jinxed him with all the 'it's lose to lose like a loser you are, loseson' talk. He was freaking out the entire morning and then they were transported to a magical world. Coincidence? He doesn't think so. Maybe it's the rash. Maybe sleeping on his side messes up his game. Yeah, let's just go backstage – wherever that is. He will win a match tomorrow to make up for this one, and that will set his win streak right back on track because that's how a win streak works.

Frank stumbles around until he finds a room parted by a curtain far back from the ring. Once he slips inside, he sees what appears to be a green room for the fighters, but there's no one here except the boy whom he's been told is called Paeden. He's sitting on one of the couches, lapping at a cup of juice. Paeden is a.. cat boy? Uh, that doesn't sound right. There's probably a name for that. He looks like a bipedal black leopard, but without the elegant, lean body of one. He's sitting down but Frank can tell that he wouldn't reach his shoulders. Paeden is broad, with stocky limbs and scruffy fur. There are scars over his body where fur wouldn't grow back, making him look quite haggard. 

He sits straighter when Frank enters the room, and as he shifts Frank notices that from the distance his fur looks back, but he actually has spots.

"First time losing, eh?" Paeden asks. Frank didn't know a talking cat would sound so nasally. "I've been in the biz for my whole life and let me tell ya… it's pretty much just more of the same. You will be losing every time from here on out, trust me."

Frank is giggling so hard he barely registers what Paeden just said. "Dude, you're adorable!"

"Wha- wha- what?" Paeden almost falls off the seat. He stares at Frank, eyes wide. "Me?"

"Yeah dude!" Frank is psyched. He can't believe there is a talking cat in this world. "I love cats! I have three cats at home. Bob, Robert, and Robbie!"

"I'm not a cat, I'm a Tabaxi," Paeden grumbles.

"Oh, sorry. I guess I like Tabaxi too then." Frank approaches him and offers a handshake. "I'm Frank Wilson, nice to meet you." 

Paeden stares blankly at his hands, and then back to the cup of juice between his paws. "You want this?"

"No, I'm good. Do you not shake hands around here?" Paeden shakes his head. "Ah, nevermind. Oh  _ sick _ , you have cat eyes too! Tabaxi eyes, I mean."

"Uh, yeah, cause they are my eyes."

Frank can't stop grinning "It's so cool man. Like – this old song my dad liked to play around the house."

Paeden tilts his head. "Mr. Puff?"

"No, my actual dad. He died. The song goes like this." Frank starts strumming his invisible guitar. " _ Risin' up, back on the street.." _

Paeden stares in stunned silence as Frank sings the whole song. Probably should've just started at the relevant verse, but once he gets going he can't just stop mid-way! 

"Yeah, I can sing too," Frank smirks. "But you get it, right? You have the eye of a tiger."

"Are you a bard?" Paeden asks. He sounds shocked.

"Not that I know of?"

" _ Eye of the tiger.  _ That can be my entrance song," Paeden muses. "Right now people just throw stuff at me, and it's not doing much for my personal brand."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Frank feels bad for this kid. Would mom be okay with adopting a fourth cat? Wait, no, a Tabaxi. "Use the song, man! No one can sue you!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! I'll do it!"

Frank sits down on the couch next to him, it was getting a little awkward just standing around. "Are you with Mr. Puff?"

"Nah, I roll nothing but a zero." When he sees the confusion on Frank's face, Paeden elaborates. "Foster children have the ability scores of one to twenty, right? I'm a zero. Mr. Puff doesn't take a zero, so I'm with McCraken. I help Mr. Puff with errands though. You don't get food by losing every match."

Yikes. Frank is not going to make this his career or anything, but he hopes he can resign from the UFC with a great score.

"About that – he told me you can take me to where I sleep tonight?" Frank asks.

"Yeah. You lost, so you are with me, the other loser." He quickly laps up the rest of the juice and puts the cup down. "I'll show ya."

Paeden takes him outside to a stable behind the pub where the patrons keep their horses.

...Why didn't Frank run away again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- He's Striker.. like in soccer.. hehe
> 
> \- Also, I'm not sure if it was clear that the pronouns change was intentional. I didn't slip up. The kids adapt to a new world in different ways, in Frank's case he defaults to gender neutral pronouns when he meets folks, especially the fantasy folks. (A habit that I think he will keep when he returns to his own world.) It changed when he heard the announcer referred to Mr. Puff with he/him pronouns. The same with Paedan when Puff told Frank about him. Maybe I'm just overexplaining things for no reason, but I wanna make it clear cause I don't want the first Non-binary npc in this series to be a fantasy race.
> 
> \- I can't remember who came up with Tabaxi Paeden hc, but credits to them! Though since he no longer has to be a homunculus, I changed him up a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres actual children fighting in this one! and a mention of blood. The minor injury and blood tag applies to this chapter.

**"Wake up, kid! It's time to make daddy money!"**

Frank wakes up covered in hay to a roaring dragon. Epic. This is life now. Paeden uncurls and pushes his paws forward, stretching his back with a yawn. It's very cute, but Frank is too groggy to process anything he sees. His head still feels sluggish, and his back hurts like hell from sleeping on the ground. His head hurts too, probably from getting knocked out yesterday. It must be bruised. Mr. Puff has a bowl in one hand, a glass of milk in the other, and some fabric draping across his forearm.

"Got you a tunic. Try to make it last." He puts the food in front of Frank, and hands him his tunic. "And here's your breakfast, eat up."

"Thanks.. I guess," Frank doesn't feel like saying  _ please _ and  _ thank you _ to this guy, but his mom taught him to always do so. "Hey, do you know where my uniform went?"

Mr. Puff shrugs. "Ripped off on the floor somewhere for all I care. Maybe don't wear a cult uniform next time."

"A what?"

"Eat your breakfast, kid."

Frank looks down at his food; It's dry oats and milk. Mr. Puff didn't even have the decency to cook them together into an oatmeal. This is just unnecessarily mean – making his breakfast awful for no reason.

"What about Peaden?" He asks.

Mr. Puff rolls his eyes. "Not my foster kid, don't care."

What the hell. "Aren't you supposed to pay him? He took care of me last night, man."

"He walked you ten steps outside, let's not piss ourselves here." Okay, this guy is the absolute worst. 

"Yeah, but you couldn't even do that yourself, so you should – " He's not listening, there's no convincing him. Frank turns to Paeden and hands him the glass of milk. "You can have this bro."

Paeden looks up and down between him and the glass. "Y– You sure?"

"Yeah bro, it's cool." It's really not. 

Mr. Puff doesn't look too pleased that he's feeding another kid with his food, but probably thinks that if he wants to eat less, that's on him. Yay… Frank loves dry oats… He likes it… It's good..

"You look like you're dying," Paeden says as Frank shoves dry oats into his mouth.

"I can do this. I can do this. I can do this." Frank starts chanting. "Nutrient. Substance. Nutrient. Substance."

Mr. Puff shakes his head. "Should've just bought the damn pipe."

* * *

Skaro McCracken, the croupier and the owner of this establishment, is a bird. Just a bipedal, wingless eagle wearing a hoodie. Frank's opinion of this world shifts every single second. On one hand, children are made to fight each other for entertainment, which sounds rad but actually isn't. (Oh yeah, he and his friends were sold into slavery. That’s also a thing that happened.) On the other hand, talking birds and cats. Can you believe it? How much better would the world be if, say, your homeroom teacher is a boar. Frank is ecstatic.

Then he remembers he’s supposed to be fighting more children today, and he has to win too. It’s.. ugh, he was so confident last night but now he isn’t so sure. He doesn’t want to be knocked out cold the second he enters the ring, but he doesn’t… want to knock anybody out cold either? The losers may die, be treated like Paedan, and have to sleep in a stable! Not in that order. It’s just not fun if they aren’t ‘in the bit’. And they can die. Can’t emphasize enough on the death part.

"Kid! Are you listening?" Mr. Puff snaps his fingers in front of his face. "Pay attention, dammit. McCraken dear, can you repeat it again?"

"Fucking.. okay, it's a triple threat match. First one who defeats another by pinfall or submission wins. Striker, you're up against Paeden or  _ Painden  _ if you'd like, but that shit is not catching up anytime soon – and June Cena."

June Cena is like… four feet tall, wearing an ill-fitting shirt, loose shorts, with the dorkiest fake blonde bob.

"How old is June?" He asks McCraken.

"She’s seven years old," McCracken replies with a straight face.. or maybe bird people just don't emote much.

Either way, that completely knocked the wind out of Frank. "What?! I can't hit a seven years old! Look at her!"

June Cena waves her hands in front of her face back and forth. "Uh-oh, you can't see me!"

"I.. can though?" Frank is  _ looking _ . She’s not even doing a good job at covering up her face.

June giggles. "No silly, you can't!"

Paeden raises his paw. "I'm eight."

"YOU'RE EIGHT?"

McCracken looks increasingly done with him. "Is he going to be like this the whole time?"

"Excuse us my dear, we'll be right back." Mr. Puff grabs him by the arm and pulls him to the side. "Kid, what the hell is your problem? You wanted to do this, remember?"

"Mr. Puff, we are being set up!" Frank looks back to make sure they're not being eavesdropped. He lowers his voice. "Did you know Paeden is McCracken's foster kid? The  _ croupier _ ? He's being used as a jobber! And this June Cena – no one's gonna hit a little seven years old. This match is rigged."

Mr. Puff lets out the longest sigh Frank has ever heard. The cloud of smoke goes on forever.

"..What?"

"I  _ know _ ," he runs his head across the ridges on his head. "It's being set up for  _ you _ to win, stupid."

"You two are in cahoots?!" Frank points back at them. Very subtle.

"I'm helping you out here! This is an early match. People don't really come to watch these, so a certain level of..  _ theatrics  _ are allowed. Your loss yesterday messed you up, so I thought that if you get a win it'd boost your morale."

"That's lying!" Frank gasps. "You can't do that; that's  _ lying. _ "

"No, it's called  _ encouragement _ . Foster parents do it all the time." Mr. Puff crosses his arms. "Oh, Timothy you're so talented for gluing peanuts to the walls. I can already tell you’re going to be an artist. Aw, Dana, you run slightly faster than other four years olds, and that means something."

Frank's jaw has gotta be on the floor. His mouth is hanging open for so long that it starts to feel dry.

"Fuck me for trying to be nice," he huffs. “Go on then, eat shit right off the carton.” 

Frank walks back to the ring, crestfallen. That was a total break with reality which he did  _ not _ have when he was transported into another dimension.

* * *

  
  


He can do this. 

He just needs a clean, non-violent win by pinning one of them down. Preferably Paeden, on the virtue of him being one year older than June. (Though Frank can't see himself hurting a cat either.) It'll be okay – he just needs a win, and then he's out of here just as planned.

"Time for the triple threat match you've all been waiting for!" McCracken's voice booms throughout the pub; Frank's ears are ringing. "Today we have.."

He doesn't hear the rest, too focused with evaluating his opponents. They are standing on the opposite sides of the ring (three out of the twenty sides, that is. It's confusing to look at.) June is bouncing in one place, looking like she's about to get on a rollercoaster and not fighting for her life. It's unnerving how gleeful she is being. Peaden is warming up, crouching down and punching through air. His eyes look downright ferocious. Frank can't hear anything but his own heartbeats. He takes a deep breath.

Wait, why is Paeden rushing in his direction – **_did it already start?!_**

Frank freezes up when he realizes, but fortunately due to the ring's absurd design, he has enough time to recover before Paden is on him. He dodges out of the way to the side, and internally congratulates himself for being quick on his feet. Too quick even, since it's proven to be unnecessary. Before he even reaches the half-way point, Paeden trips. It looked like he tried to run on all four, but he bent himself weird and landed on his face instead. He is.. not getting up. He is just laying there. Oh shit, he's knocked himself out at the start of the match. There goes Frank's plan. Now he has to defeat June Cena if he wants a win –

Where is June?

Frank turns around every which way until he finds her. Instead of rushing directly to him, she takes off into a full sprint and ricochets off the rope. Her small body launches through air at top speed like a projectile. Frank has a split second to dodge, but then he psyches himself out by thinking of how much it would hurt her if she misses. Thanks to that brief panic, she doesn't. Frank gets knocked down on his butt, barely avoiding hitting his head. June is the lightest of lightweight, so he isn't in too much pain. Just off-balance and kinda embarrassed. He gets back up on his feet, but by then June is already on the rope, ready for takeoff.

"Wait, June, we don't – ARGH!"

**Hurt. Hurt. Pain. Bad.** Lightweight or not, you don't want a little girl to fly at you, her sharp, bony shoulder slamming into your sternum. Air leaves his lungs upon impact, and the pain is so bad that even as he rises up again, Frank is still disorientated. His balance is off, his vision is unsteady, and McCracken sounds like he is commentating on the match far, far away from here. June's giggling is getting louder in comparison, and it's scaring him.

She's in one of the (too many) corners now, with the magic foster kid. She's chanting some sort of Mantra at her, and now June is  _ glowing.  _ Frank can't tell what it is, and he's both too disorientated and clueless of this world to see what is going on. She doesn't  _ look _ different, but there is an energy radiating off of her. Pure, unfiltered strength. June rushes toward him, shoulders squared, quick as a bull. Frank now realizes he has no idea what to do in this situation. Sure, he's been in fights before, but it didn't require any strategy more sophisticated than punching and pushing a bunch. No one was throwing themselves like a human cannonball at him, and none of them were foster children being put into a blood sport. What is he even supposed to  _ do? _

Frank blindly grabs at her. He's stronger than her, and should be able to just pin her down, right? Well, not if his hands fail to connect. June eludes his attempts and scoops him up like ice cream. There is definitely something magical going on because she should _not_ be able to do this. And by 'this' Frank means hoisting him up and slamming him down like he weighs nothing.

"Teehee! I told you, silly. You can't see me ~ " She does that hand thing again. Frank would be angry, if he isn't writhing around in pain. "You aren't much. I thought you were gonna fight."

She pretends to brush the dirt off her shoulders – why is this seven years old  _ so mean  _ – and then clenches her hand into fist. Oh no. 

In hindsight, it's worse that his opponent is smaller and younger. It just drags the match on forever, when she could've knocked him out easy if she packed more force behind her punches. When June's fist slams down onto the bridge of his nose, Frank is _ still  _ aware. He feels every painful attempt to breathe, his nosebleed dripping down into his mouth. Yuck! He splutters as June hoists him up again – for the last time. 

"Time for your attitude adjustment!"

Frank hits the ring with a heavy thud; the crowd loses their mind.

_ Screw this. _

Getting slammed  _ twice  _ is not enough to make anyone tap out, as much as it pains Frank to do. He could almost see the ghost of his dad crying somewhere, disappointed in him.

* * *

  
  


It's awkward in the green room.

Frank and Paeden sit side by side, having just been healed by the 'clerics'. (Apparently that's what they are called.) June Cena sits on the couch opposite of them, licking an oversized lollipop while waiting for her (foster) parent to pick her up.

"Are you mad?" She asks Frank with her big, beady eyes. "Don't be mad."

Frank sighs and shakes his head. Paeden gives him an encouraging pat on the back.

"You shouldn't be fighting," Frank says. "You too, Paeden."

They both look at him confused, especially June who then asks, "Why not?"

Frank doesn't know how to get through to her. She seems so nonchalant that this must be the norm of this world, or at least of her life. How does he convey to her that it doesn't  _ have _ to be this way, if anything else might not even appeal to her?

"Do you like fighting?" He asks.

"Duh! I'm so good at it," She says with a giggle. "Paeden likes it too."

He turns to look at Paeden, mouth agape. Paeden shifts nervously. "If someone asks me to throw the match I wouldn't hesitate – but yeah, I like combat."

Frank doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's already being set up to lose, they just don't let him in on it.

"You could  _ die _ ." Frank probably shouldn't be saying this to her, but he is out of ideas.

June seems more or less unaffected. "They try not to make that happen though."

Frank frowns. "They do?"

"Yeah! They gotta keep us around. People like me. It's funny when I say things. Hurr durr, attitude adjustment."

Paeden nods. "June has a great career ahead of her."

June points at Paeden with her lollipop. "See?"

Frank is stumped.  _ He couldn't believe he's saying this. _ "I.. if you're good at it, you are taken care off, and you have fun –  _ sure.  _ I guess being a child fighter in a blood sport isn't so bad."

If Frank didn't lose twice in a row, he'd probably like it too. He thought he was going to, at least.

June already loses interest and goes back to enjoying her lollipop.

Paeden comforts him, "You'll get used to it."

To  _ what? _ Losing? Children's blood sport? Neither seems like something Frank would want to get used to.

"This sucks." Frank puts his head into his hands. "Ugh. This sucks so bad. I hate this. I wish dad was here."

"Where is he?" June asks.

"He is.." Frank looks up at her. "Oh god, he is dead."

June startles. "Uh-oh. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's just that.. he's dead." His eyes start to water, and his lips are trembling. "I don't know why I didn't cry? Yesterday? But now it's coming to me and oh no."

Frank is full on crying now. Both June and Paeden look pretty freak out about it, but they try to calm him down. Frank is just now processing that his dad is dead, and the last thing he did was apologizing to Frank for being a bad father. Frank doesn't even know how he died. Maybe he was eaten by bears. What is he going to do now? What would he tell mom? She's going to be heartbroken.

"You can have my lollipop," June offers. 

"N-no, it's fine." Frank sniffs. "You already licked it."

She gives him a sheepish smile. "Oops. Sorry, I forgot."

"Maybe your dad is still out there somewhere," Paeden says.

"I doubt it." He wipes the tears and snots from his face. "Thanks though."

He needs a win more than ever now, in the honor of his late father. What else would he do, rushing to rescue Willy? Yeah, no. He could take care of himself in..Meowmeowshade – wherever that is – for a while. Mr. Stampler is still alive and well, after all. What would Willy know of what Frank is going through right now? Amanda, on the other hand, would understand. 

When Mr. Puff calls him to the ring again late in the evening, he doesn't look pleased.

"Since you had a qualm about hitting a seven years old," He says and rolls his eyes. "We'll match you with someone in your age  _ and  _ weight class. How about that?"

"That is.." Frank scratches his head. "Actually really good? Why didn't you do that in the first place?"

Mr. Puff sighs. "Look over there; your opponent is fighting right now. Gunnar duckworth."

Frank turns to the ring to find Gunnar duckworth. The biggest boy – even bigger than Frank – he had ever seen. He's laughing maniacally while throwing a kid around like a boomerang.

Oh no.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Ngl I forgot McCracken exists, so I made Mr. Puff. Then I remembered mid-way and was like 'aw fuck' so I worked around it. McCracken runs the joint primarily, Foster Parents sign up their kids. This is a horrible sport.
> 
> \- The Doodler's name is already known in Faerun this time, but no depiction of it had ever been made. So what is the doodler mascot? Hehehe
> 
> \- I take a lot of liberties changing things up, I hope that's alright! It just can't be a repeat of the canon y'know? I like to think of what I'm doing like fixing up the builds/premade sims in The Sims hahaha.


End file.
